“There is such a test as water,” suggested Alick.
“I should be ashamed to return the proof to its master, bearing traces of unjust suspicion.”
“If the suspicion you impute to me be unjust, the water will produce no effect at all.”
“And you engage to retract all your distrust and contempt, if you are convinced that this engraving is genuine?”
“I do,” he answered steadily.
With irritated magnanimity Rachel dipped her finger into the vase of flowers on the table, and let a heavy drop of water fall upon the cottage scene. The centre remained unaltered, and she looked round in exultation, saying, “There, now I suppose I may wipe it off.”
Neither spoke, and she applied her pocket handkerchief. What came peeling away under her pressure? It was the soft paper, and as she was passing the edge of the figure of the girl, she found a large smear following her finger. The peculiar brown of Indian ink was seen upon her handkerchief, and when she took it up a narrow hem of white had become apparent between the girl’s head and its surroundings. Neither spectator spoke, they scarcely looked at her, when she took another drop from the vase, and using it more boldly found the pasted figure curling up and rending under her hand, lines of newspaper type becoming apparent, and the dark cloud spreading around.
“What does it mean?” was her first exclamation; then suddenly turning on Ermine, “Well, do you triumph?”
“I am very, very sorry,” said Ermine.
“I do not know that it is come to that yet,” said Rachel, trying to collect herself. “I may have been pressing too hard for results.” Then looking at the mangled picture again as they wisely left her to herself, “But it is a deception! A deception! Oh! he need not have done it! Or,” with a lightened look and tone of relief, “suppose he did it to see whether I should find it out?”